Crack
by Galae
Summary: Everyone experiences a time when the world tilts upside down. (Subtle slash)


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Author's Foreword:

I've always wanted to write something from Severus's mind. A monologue. Of course, I have to suck at them.

This is very subtly HP/SS. At least, it was meant to be. 

Everyone experiences a time when the world tilts upside down.

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Crack

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by Galae

He's just a child.

Oh, of course, nobody with half an ear would think that he was an innocent. I have heard rumors, both in the staff room and in the hallways, that Dumbledore's golden boy is not as ingenuous as he held him up to be. 

But to me, he's still a child.

Made of china, of crystal. No, you can't touch. You'd break him. Stay away from him, your hands are dirty, civil blood make civil hands unclean. You'd sully him. 

He is so much like me.

You are going to do great things with your life. You have a talent. 

He does, too. I know he hears it everyday. But he is a child. I was . . . not. He's a Gryffindor, I was a Slytherin.

Father always said to me, don't touch a toy that you might break. Leave it alone. You're such a stupid little boy at times. Don't you understand anything? They're too expensive for you to touch and break.

I would never forget the day I smashed Great-Grandmother Aspira's vase.

Riddle knew this, of course. I could still remember that day, when he looked at me and grinned like the lunatic he was. "We have a Snape," he said softly, looking me over like a choice cut. "Do you like Charms, my good friend? No? I heard you are the Potions Master. Of course a Snape would spend his life with tangible things."

When he thinks nobody else is watching, he shows himself. Not the beam of sunshine everyone sees him as.

He looks more and more like Lily everyday.

Even away from Father, it is the same thing. Everything is too good for you. Never touch, because you're so careless and stupid . . . who knows what you'd destroy. 

She's not a Slytherin, you ignorant oaf. She's not one of _you_. She's one of the good. Don't vilify her with your presence. Get away from her. 

Even though your heart cries in the middle of the night. Even though your arms are empty and her laughter stabs you with a thousand knives. Even though she was the only one that ever touched you.

Now, you dirty little Slytherin, why do you refuse to understand? She's James'. She belongs to him. She was born for _him_.

A Potter, not a Snape. 

He's a Gryffindor. I was a Slytherin.

He's in my office, now. 

"I'm sixteen."

Of course he is. I snort and give him a standard response.

He asks if he could sit down. I go back to grading my papers.

And then he breaks.

I never touched him. 

"I can't do it," he gasps. "I can't. I will die. Death has his carriage, and I'm running. I escaped him too many times. He will catch up to me. I don't want to die. I don't want to face him. I want to get away, I want to run away. The Hat was right, I'm not a Gryffindor, I'm _not_, because I have no courage, I have no strength . . . I should have let it put me in Slytherin."

Please. Don't put me Gryffindor. Don't put me in Gryffindor. Father would lock me away, and nobody would ever look at me again. Not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor . . .

He is so much like me.

I hand him a handkerchief. He shakes his head.

He does not cry. 

Lily never cried.

"You could stay a little longer, if you'd like," I say.

He looks at me.

"I have another four hours of work to do."

He nods.

"What is this?" he asks, picking up the vase.

"It is a replica."

"What happened to the original?"

"What happens to most china?"

"Oh."

He's just a child. Was I ever a child? I hear Father's voice, You'd never grow up. You're just a foolish little boy. I told you to study. Why aren't you studying? Do you plan to be an infant forever? This estate—it'll never be yours if you keep on lazing around. 

I hated the estate.

And then he turns to me. "Do you ever wish you were somebody you're not?"

"I wish I'm a Muggle."

Silence. He doesn't know how to take it. 

"I don't know," he said softly, replacing the vase on the shelf. "It's bloody boring, doing nothing but watch the telly all the time."

I look at him. He sighs. 

It would have been so much easier if he was breakable.

James had been. Throw him an insult and he crumples. You could see it in his face. Nobody likes to upset St. James.

I see in him all the parts of myself I had wished to forget, and then another soul, a twin soul that nobody sees, hidden underneath that bright, shining face. 

I hate him because he is me. I am a part of him, and he is a part of me. 

"You should go now," I say. I put down my quill.

"No. I'm sixteen. Not a child anymore. You can't order me around."

"You're my student. And you will listen to me."

He stands there, a living, breathing defiance.

"Don't make me," I warn.

"Make you what?"

I grab his arm. 

He does not resist. He looks at me, suddenly. All of the sudden I feel exhausted.

I snatch my hand away.

And then he touches me.

I am the vase. I shatter into a thousand pieces.

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I feel like a great weight has been taken off my chest. Perhaps Severus is a part of all of us, just waiting to come out.


End file.
